


oh princess you make the party (abandoned snippets)

by sparklebitca



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pre-2009-Split Panic! at the Disco, Spencer Smith is Mentioned, The Patrick/Brendon is only hinted at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklebitca/pseuds/sparklebitca
Summary: oh princess you make the party / with your hands in your pockets, your innocent eyes / and all those things running around in your head
Relationships: Patrick Stump & Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump/Brendon Urie, Ryan Ross & Brendon Urie
Kudos: 3





	oh princess you make the party (abandoned snippets)

**Author's Note:**

> 100% abandoned snippets of a proto-brendon/patrick, set pre-2009-split. found on 10/1/2020 in an old journal; probably written in 2006 or 2007. 
> 
> title & summary from "princess" by matt nathanson.

* * *

Brendon scowls into his cup. 

"Oh, cliche, I fucking LOVE it," he had declared when someone had scavenged up those red plastic Dixie cups, because he did love it, how perfect, everything was perfect, and Jack Daniels tasted just as bitterly adult as he had imagined it would, even in that plastic cup. He had tried to write his name on the side with a Sharpie, but the slick surface had stubbornly refused the ink, and Spencer had snorted.

"What," Brendon had bristled, "I don't want someone else's cooties." _Germs._ "Germs, I don't want someone's germs."

"Alcohol is a disinfectant," Pete had said as he maneuvered by, half a watermelon in his hands dripping lushly on the linoleum, and he had bent to lick at the rim of Brendon's cup. Brendon had yelped, moving a fraction of a second late, and Pete's tongue had swiped over Brendon's knuckles. Brendon had impressed himself with his ruthless suppression of his first instinct - _ewww_ \- and he had though maybe he had impressed The Wentz too, judging by the wolfish grin on Pete's face when Brendon had dipped his own fingers into the booze in his cup and sucked them sticky-clean. 

"Just like the Lysol Mom used to buy," he had said, and just like that, he was in with Pete.

* * *

No one is talking about Brendon drinking, although no one else is. This is a strange and wonderful scene, all these boys, no supervision, and Brendon feels that awesomely sick thrill of doing something wrote in an entirely expected way, something that's only bad if he gets caught at it, but there's no one here who would rat him out. He might be beyond ratting out altogether, he realizes, and the same thrill shoots through him.

Patrick, however, has a beer.

* * *

Brendon was never into Fall Out Boy the way Ryan and Spencer were. He had asked Ryan to burn him a CD, but Ryan had refused, dryly informing him that Brendon should buy it. 

"I thought bands only really made money off touring," Brendon had said, amused at Ryan's selective morality. He only bought the album after meeting Pete, feeling somewhat guilty.

That first time, after that first practice, Ryan had gnawed at the corner of his lip before nodding and saying, "you kind of sound like Patrick Stump" as he twisted his Kleenex into a soggy rosette.

"Who?" Brendon had asked, and "dude, that's gross."

Ryan had rolled his eyes; Brendon knew Fall Out Boy, didn't he? 

He didn't really, but he recognized the music when Ryan put the CD in. It was the music that Ryan always had playing in his car.

* * *

"He sounds like you, huh?" Pete asked after playing the demo for Patrick. His eyes were wide, clear; he had been tapping his fingers on his knee when the song was playing, and Patrick contemplated, for the briefest of moments, feigning the sort of enthusiasm Pete clearly felt. 

"I want him on the record, okay? Can we find him some lines?"

Patrick opened his mouth, but Pete had kept talking.

"I wanted the other kid to do a guitar bit, but he didn't want to, which is fucked up, kinda, right? But this is probably better, actually, this dude's pretty hot, if he's gonna be their face then it's good to get him on this record, right?"

Pete's always thinking about shit like this.

Patrick nodded, mentally running through the tracks and highlighting some possibilities.

* * *

Pete seemed to think that he was preparing Patrick by telling him that Brendon talks just as much off-camera as he does on-camera. Patrick hadn't seen any of Panic's press, though, so that hadn't meant much to him.

"We could find a studio in Vegas, you could lay it down there," he had told Brendon, before he ever met him, before he ever gave any amount of brain cells over to worrying to Brendon's sobriety. Brendon had spent half an hour on the phone with Patrick, looking at the sheet music on the screen and hearing his mouse-clicks echoed on Patrick's end of the line. Two days later, he had spent two hours in a studio in Henderson, magically open to him by a wave of Pete Wentz's invisible hand. He had cupped the headphones to his ears with both hands and tried not to watch for Ryan's reaction through the window of the sound booth.

When he had finished, however, it was inescapable. "That was good," Ryan had told him. 

"Yeah? It wasn't very much."

"Whatever." Ryan had rolled his shoulders, as if there was some tension there, pinching. "It's still fucking cool that they wanted you to do it." And Brendon can see the thought as it forms and passes through Ryan's mind - _if I was singing, would it be me?_

Not even two months later, Ryan had been in the sound booth with his guitar, with Brendon on the outside, still trying not to watch.

* * *

"All alone?" Brendon asks daringly, cheekily, and feels a heady rush of acceptance when Patrick blinks up at him and says,

"Not anymore."

"'Kay, I have a really important question." Brendon sits on the couch next to Patrick. "I mean, a really important question, so really think about it, okay?"

"Sure," Patrick says. 

"Coke or Pepsi?" He holds up a hand as Patrick opens his mouth. "You have to pick, you can't say you don't drink soda, it's like life or death, a gun to your head, you have to pick a cola product."

Patrick shuts his mouth again.

* * *

When Brendon tips his head against Patrick's shoulder and closes his eyes, he can still feel the ceiling shuddering sideways above him.

"Don't puke," Patrick says affably, and his voice is like freaking Pepto-Bismol and Brendon sort of wants to drink it, a big old dying-of-thirst gulp of it. But the breath Patrick had to take in to order to speak had caused his arm to shift slightly, and movement is bad, so bad. Brendon doesn't want to puke.

* * *

In the end, it's as easy as showing Pete that not only does it not matter, it doesn't even bear thought.


End file.
